The world has need of it."
The room was wont to be swept by sudden tides, and notably between the
dances, when the revellers ebbed through the great doorway to where
corks popped and glasses tinkled. Colonel Trethaway and Corliss
followed out on the next ebb to the bar, where fifty men and women were
lined up. They found themselves next to Lucile and the fellow in the
yellow wolf-skin cap. He was undeniably handsome, and his looks were
enhanced by a warm overplus of blood in the cheeks and a certain mellow
fire in the eyes. He was not technically drunk, for he had himself in
perfect physical control; but his was the soul-exhilaration which comes
of the juice of the grape. His voice was raised the least bit and
joyous, and his tongue made quick and witty--just in the unstable
condition when vices and virtues are prone to extravagant expression.
As he raised his glass, the man next to him accidentally jostled his
arm. He shook the wine from his sleeve and spoke his mind. It was not
a nice word, but one customarily calculated to rouse the fighting
blood. And the other man's blood roused, for his fist landed under the
wolf-skin cap with force sufficient to drive its owner back against
Corliss. The insulted man followed up his attack swiftly. The women
slipped away, leaving a free field for the men, some of whom were for
crowding in, and some for giving room and fair play.
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